


Tea

by MaybeSherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 09:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeSherlock/pseuds/MaybeSherlock
Summary: After The Fall, Sherlock returns to London briefly in the wake of almost being discovered by Moriarty's men. Despite the necessity of keeping his return unknown, Sherlock longs to see Molly.





	Tea

**Author's Note:**

> It's a rainy day and I was enjoying a cup of tea listening to music when a song came on that inspired this sort drabble. The song is "Almost Woke You Up" by Stephen Kellogg.

He knew she would be sound asleep by this hour. Friday night after seven   
consecutive shifts and a glass of wine…she was asleep by 9:30. He had come  
back to London for a week, having had to abandon his recent target as his identity had  
been questioned. Irony had returned him to London even as he was on his exiled   
mission to destroy Moriarty. 

Mycroft had insisted he keep absolutely no contact with his friends while he was   
in London, and Sherlock agreed in order to keep them safe and the ruse in tact. But he   
had to see her. He had to know Molly was ok.  
Sherlock had finally admitted to himself that he loved Molly, but to keep her safe,   
he would never disclose his feelings. He came close on his final day in London before  
he started his mission. 

The night was frigid, and her kindness insisted he take a thermos of tea with him. He   
stood there in her doorway, thermos in hand ready to leave, but he couldn’t take his   
eyes away from hers. They were brimming with tears that she was trying valiantly to hold  
back. Sherlock thought to himself that he could tell her now and allow them precious seconds of   
requited love. But he recognized how cruel that would be. So he took her in his arms and   
she clung to him with the power of knowing it could be the last time she sees him alive. He knew   
what possessed him to do it, to say it and he relished in the moment often. Slowly drawing   
away from her embrace he raised one hand and gently cradled her face. He kissed her   
lips and whispered “I’ll come back to you,” and was gone. 

Sherlock entered her flat without a sound. He knew Molly would never change her locks, not so  
long as she knew he had a key. He took a deep breath standing there in her entryway.   
It still smelled like her place, lingering smells of dinner and and evening tea, classic old   
furniture accented with new. 

His heart rate began to increase as he walked down the hall to her bedroom. Pausing in   
the doorway, Sherlock smiled when he saw her. Unlike the night he left, it was a warm evening.  
Molly had the window open and the breeze felt cool on his flushed cheeks. She was sleeping on   
her back in the middle of the bed, sheets and limbs askew. She was in a lose tank and boy short knickers.  
The intermittent breeze rose goose flesh on her skin and caused her nipples to perk up under the tank. 

Sherlock took a seat in the chair under the window. There he sat and leaned his arms on his   
knees and held his head. This was torture, he wanted so badly to reach out to her. Instead   
he talked to her in the softest whisper:

“Molly, I’m happy you are sleeping again. It makes my heart so angry that I can’t have   
this life with you. For so long, I couldn’t see you in front of me offering the love and   
happiness I now crave.” Molly stirred, and furrowed her brow and repositioned, moving   
sheets and pillows but remaining asleep.   
“Even now as you sleep, I can see you still get no peace. Thats my fault, and that’s not fair. I wish   
you could see yourself, you look so beautiful in this light…” Sherlock shook his head slowly and   
looked away as if the image of her lying in bed was too much to take. “Damn Mycroft!” Sherlock cursed   
under his breath.  
“I know why I can’t hold you, talk to you…but I can’t stand this, Molly.” Going to   
the side of her bed, he reached out and traced the shadowed curves of her arm up to her   
neck. He paused and moved his hand to her face as he did the night he left. “I love you,”   
he whispered in her ear. He then pressed his lips to hers with the softest touch. 

Sherlock’s heart dropped to the floor and his eyes flashed open when he felt Molly’s hand on the   
back of his neck. He tried to pull away but her nails dug into his hairline sending shivers   
of fright and arousal through his body. Molly let out a low moan, released her hand and   
rolled over onto her side. All the while her eyes were shut tightly until she repositioned   
herself, sighed and did not stir. 

Frozen in place, Sherlock barley let out a breath. He knew he almost woke her up. What  
a disaster that would have been. He was too reckless.   
Sadly he turned to leave, glancing one more time at how the light from the window fell on her skin. 

Before he left however he went into her kitchen with a sly grin. 

The next morning, Molly lingered in bed trying desperately to cling to the Sherlock in   
her dream. She’d often dreamt of him, but last night was different…he felt so real. She   
could remember almost waking up, but forcing her eyes closed so as not to lose the dream.  
Her fingertips still tingled with the tickle of his hair, and her lips clung to arousing pressure  
and feel of his own. 

With a defeated sigh, she resigned to file away the vivid dream for later day dreams and   
sleepless nights. 

Moving slowly to the kitchen she turned on the radio for the morning news and absentmindedly   
turned on the kettle. Reaching up to the cabinet for her favorite mug, she paused. There it was   
sitting on the counter with the thermos she sent with Sherlock.


End file.
